Miss Albright laughed. “He certainly does seem like the type who enjoys the sound of his own voice.”
Helen nodded. “But isn’t it hard to find jobs these days?”
“It is, but something will come along. I like to think I’m the kind of gal who can land on her feet. I’m from somewhere like here, and this is exactly what I’m trying to get away from.”
Helen’s gaze swept the farmland surrounding them before turning back to Miss Albright. “You’re from Missouri?”
“No, South Dakota. But trust me, small-mindedness can be found everywhere.”
AFTER DINNER THAT evening Helen led the way to her small room at the end of the hall and stood back to let Miss Albright go in first and settle her suitcase on the ground under the window. Before Helen followed her, she went to the washroom and wriggled out of her skirt and blouse before pulling on her plain light blue cotton pajama pants and top. All the girls at Miss Humphries’s teased her for wearing men’s pajamas, but she didn’t like how nightgowns bunched around her waist when she was in bed so she insisted on getting her sleepwear from the men’s section of the Sears catalog. As she finished buttoning the pajama top, she paused and peered into the tiny mirror over the sink. She frowned at a couple of the pimples scattered across her forehead. Miss Albright’s complexion was perfect. Helen imagined running her hand across the woman’s smooth cheek, and even in the gray light of the washroom, she could see her face flush a dark red.
She balled up her clothes and returned to her room, sank to her knees, and pulled the trundle out from under her bed. With her knees practically knocking into her ears, she sat on the low-lying trundle and brushed her hair to distract her from thinking about Miss Albright. She lowered her hairbrush and breathed in the mixture of something floral emanating from the teacher, perhaps rosewater, and though she longed to lean in closer to inhale deeper, she kept focused on the plain white sheets of her trundle bed.
But then she snuck a peek at the woman. She couldn’t resist.
With her back to Helen, Miss Albright unbuttoned her poplin dress and hung it on a peg on the back of the door, slipped off her brassiere from under her slip, and rubbed a damp washcloth over her face and neck, then dabbed it at her underarms. Helen flushed at the intimacy of the gesture and pretended to check the buttons on her pajama top, but out of the corner of her eye, she kept studying the woman. Tendrils of blond curls had fallen from Miss Albright’s French twist and clung to the soft white skin of her neck. The graceful ridges of the musculature of her shoulders rose and fell beneath the ivory-colored straps of her slip as she continued her grooming. Helen found her gaze traveling downward along the curve of the woman’s back. She swallowed and looked down at her own feet. Thin lines of dirt clung to the wrinkles around her toes as if sketched in black ink. From where her chest leaned against her thigh, she felt her heart racing.
“Want me to brush your hair?”
Helen startled. “What?”
Miss Albright gestured at the hairbrush lying on the floor beside Helen. “Your hair. Want me to brush it?”
“It’s not very long. All of the other girls I know have longer hair, but mine seems to work best short.”
“Short or long, it will still be good to have it brushed.”
“Um, yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And since we’re sharing a bedroom, you might as well call me Polly.”
Polly. Turning away from her, Helen mouthed the name, but couldn’t actually bring herself to say it aloud. “All right.”
Miss Albright—or Polly—bent over to pick up the hairbrush and lowered herself to sit on the trundle bed. Helen caught a glimpse of the pale swell of her breasts through the thin slip she wore and quickly turned away. The woman placed the hairbrush on Helen’s scalp and began to brush downward, slowly and smoothly. Helen felt the woman’s breath on the back of her neck and sat straighter, as if this could bring her closer.
“You have lovely hair.”
Lovely. Helen’s heart felt as though it expanded by several inches. A compliment such as this felt extravagant and she fumbled over how to respond. “I’ve started pinning it into curls at night during the week.” Her voice sounded deep and gravelly, more so than usual, but she continued. “But since I help Pa with chores on the weekend, it seems like a waste of time to get it all dolled up while I’m here.”
“Why wasn’t your pa at dinner with us?”
“He’s working. He’s doing everything himself. Well, mostly. I help too. When I can.”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
Helen pondered the way Pa always wanted her help, but never appeared satisfied by her efforts. “He doesn’t really see it that way.”
The brushing paused. “How come?”
Helen thought back to that time she’d overheard Pa talking with Dr. McCubbin. I never wanted her. She shook her head as if the memory could be knocked away. “He just doesn’t.”
“Hmm. I see.” Miss Albright sounded wistful. “Fathers can be like that.”
The brushing started again. Determined not to let thoughts of Pa ruin the moment, Helen closed her eyes and let her head roll with the steady pace of it.
After several minutes of silence, Miss Albright lowered the hairbrush to the blanket. “Perfect, my dear. Your hair looks wonderful.”
Again, Helen savored the compliment, and the feeling of goodwill emboldened her. “Polly, shall I brush your hair too?” It felt daring to use the woman’s first name, a little risky and wild, but the woman appeared unfazed.
“My, what a treat. How can I say no to that?”
The two shifted on the trundle to switch places and Polly ran a hand along Helen’s hip to guide her past. Helen slowed, relishing the touch
